"Alone's jus' fine." Agnes hums as she looks sideways at the girl. God, she's blushin' so red, Agnes thinks with a little smile. Dang cute. Her feet hit the grass near silently as they make their way to the dorms Agnes had exited earlier to meet Winter. Her family's gone by now, she knows that much. Tobi'll keep them safe, they'll meet up later when Agnes helps he parents home. She just hopes Joy is doing all right.

At her next question though, she just shrugs. "I flirt. Y'all seemed int'a it. And as f'how Tobi knew?" she supposes her brother must have talked to Winter at some point. He has a habit of warning girls she's interested in. She's never minded. It just tends to weed out the one's not that interested. "He been livin' with me for a long time. I ain't e'er been shy 'bout it." There's a beat then as they walk along the path to the dorm. Agnes can see it up ahead; not much longer and they'd be at the front door.

"Never really had that sort a 'serious talk' wit' him bout it. Jus' caught me makin' out with a girl on the couch on e'ening, went back to his room and put headphones in as he worked on a paper." She looks up towards the setting sky and smiles. "He's always been chill, but I like t'figure he kinda knew."

Winter looked straight ahead as they neared her destination. She listened as Agnes spoke. She was kinda jealous. Tobi was open and didn't know that Agnes liked girls and that Winter liked girls too. He seemed all for it, even go as far as warning her about Agnes. Her own family... she was sure that they wouldn't be as chill as him. Even Noelle was accepting of her sexuality. She sighed.

"My parents don't know... I don't think I can tell them. They're God-fearing people you know? They think that it's a sin..." She opened the door to the dorms and led Agnes up the steps to her floor. "Not many people know I feel this way... Noelle only found out by accident the other week. And besides her, you and Tobi... there's only one other girl who knows I'm bi..."

Winter made it to her room and unlocked the door, opening it so that Agnes could step in first before she shut the door behind both of them. Winter looked at the door as it shut for a moment. She was alone... in her room... with a cute girl who she had a crush on! Oh God... what should she do?! She turned around and looked at Agnes. "So uh... this is all still so new to me." She said as she turned on her light... and then a lamp. And then another lamp to help fight the darkness that was coming through the window.

Agnes listens to the smaller girl as she follows her up the steps to the dorm. She doesn’t know quite what to say to that fear. She supposes she’s been blessed, what with her brother and her parents not giving half a shit about the people she likes. It’s only when she brings them home that they subject them to any kind of scrutiny, and that has to do more with who they are as a person than what they look like. She catches the girl in her gaze. It’s serious this time.

“Y’all do what y’feel is right, but it’s who y’are, y’know? Y’ain’t obligated t’tell no one.” She nods.

Winter opens the door then to her room. Agnes slides in and Winter closes it behind them. Forward, Agnes thinks with a smirk. She turns, looks at the flustered girl as she turns on lamp after lamp. God, she was nervous, and hell if that ain’t cute.

“We do whate’er you comfortable with, darlin.” Agnes nearly purrs the word. “I a’int doin nothin’ you don’ wanna do." She slides into the girls space with an easy grace. Bright eyes and a playful grin pin Winter as one hand comes up to lightly trace the curve of her jaw. The pad of her thumb settles just barely along the edge of her lips.

"Jus' tell me what." The words rumble soft and low in her chest. She stands there looking down at the shorter girl, waiting patiently.

Winter nodded as she looked up at Agnes, finally able to somewhat make eye contact. She blushed all the same. "I suppose you're right. I'm just.... Not ready to tell the world while I'm still figuring it out." She said softly.

She blushed as Agnes practically purrs her next words. God, it was so cute... She smiled at her all the same. She was grateful for her patiences. Lord knows that Agnes will probably need a lot with her. She scratched the back of her head nervously as Agnes invaded her space. It was a pleasant invasion but Winter was acutely aware of everything. Her body in relation to the other girl. The warntg that emmitated from Agnes. Her own heart pounding against her chest. She was a mess.

Winter couldn't help but to shiver pleasently as Agnes touched her. God, that grin of hers was adorable. She couldn't get enough of it. Winter was aware of the other's thumb near her lips. She vaguely wondered what Agnes tasted like... Would she taste of the outside? Would she taste like a camping trip?

She blushed when she asked what she wanted. "I... I don't know...." She murmured. "I didn't think that I would get this far..." She murmured as she took a small step closer to Agnes so that they were sharing pretty much the same space. Her eyes kept glancing at her lips.

Agnes watches Winter’s eyes flick from her to her lips. It was a message she was well versed in, one that she was all too happy to receive. She smiles, a little less playful and a lot more sultry. A hand comes to rest high on Winter’s hip. A little bit of pressure, a little bit of a pull with her strong arms and their bodies were flush against each other.

She leans down herself to meet the girl halfway. Lips meet in a gentle press, something easy for Winter to try. She’s got her in a very loose hold that the other can break anytime. The kiss is chaste, soft, and utterly sweet, but Agnes just can’t resist. As the two break away, she gently takes Winter’s bottom lip between her teeth and leaves the kiss with a very small nip. It’s an overture to something more, if Winter’s feeling up to it.

Winter recognized the look that Agnes gave her. That sultry look did her in to be honest. She let Agnes grab her hip and pull her close. She blushed some more but she didn't stop her as their bodies were pressed together. She was sure that Agnes could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't stop her. She didn't want her to stop.

Winter looked up into her eyes as Agnes pulled her chin up. She stood on her toes as her hands gently laid on Agnes's arms as they kissed for the first time. Her eyes closed. She kiss was sweet... And yet.. Winter wanted more. There was something... Something about her that was just so... Inviting.

As they pulled apart after the kiss, Winter felt a gentle bite on her lip. She looked at Agbes with a teasing glare. Her confidence back. "Figure it out indeed ..." She said softly. She smiled. "You're just too tall for me to kiss, Agnes. Why don't you sit down so you're more my height." She said as she gently pushed her to her bed to sit. She had thought if her desk chair. It was closer but the thing was on wheels and not safe for this. Besides... She wanted to taste Agnes more... She didn't get a good feel for her just yet.

Agnes lets herself be pushed back onto the bed behind her. Now there was that confidence she remembered, she thought with a sly look. Her legs hit the edge of the bed and she falls back onto the cheap college mattress and the sheets that cover it. Her hands reach behind her to steady herself while she lets her long legs stretch out in front of her, bare heels hitting the cool tile.

“Happy t’ ‘blige.” She drawls at Winter. Pale grey eyes look out at her in the middle of the room under half lidded eyes. Winter’s there, confident but blushing, flustered but focused on her, and with a body that just don’t quit. God, Agnes wants her bad. She wants those curves under her hands, wants those lips against hers, wants to draw all sorts of sounds from her, wants her hands in that short hair, wants to leave marks that don’t fade for weeks, wants, wants, wants.

“Gonna join me, darlin?” Agnes smiles at her from her spot on the bed. She shifts herself; a little more open, a little more inviting.

Winter looked at Agnes as she sat down on her bed. She had that eager look in her eyes. She ass thinking. She was thinking about her .. about what she wanted to do with her. Winter was a bit overwhelmed for a moment. This was moving fast but she didn't want to slow down. She looked at Agnes.

Winter wanted those strong arms around her and holding her. She wanted to kiss her. To run her fingers through her curly hair. She chewed on her lip a bit nervously but it did look slightly seductive as Agnes invited her closer.

Winter took two steps forward and ended up between Agnes's legs. She looked at the tall girl, their height as little more equal now as she leaned forward for another kiss. This time, Winter wasn't as chaste. She wrapped her arms around Agnes as she tried to tease Agnes's lips open. It's just like kissing a boy... Except the lips are so much sweeter tasting.

Winter settles between her legs, and that’s just too fine. What’s even better is the kiss that follows. Winter’s arms wrap around her as Agnes’s own come forward to pull at the shorter girl’s waist. When Winter teases her own lips open, Agnes grips a little harder, enough to where it’ll leave marks. God damn this girl.

She lets her hands roam and oh, that’s much too far away. A small pull brings Winter closer to her with the power of muscles she’s earned in her twenty-two years. She hums her approval with this new arrangement, with the girl much more into her space, knees on the bed in between her own legs. Her hands come up to trace the line of Winter’s spine, up to her neck, and tangles her fingers into her hair.

She breaks the kiss again to check in with Winter, eyes still half lidded but curious. “Y’all good?” She wants to make sure this is enjoyable for everyone involved. She knows what she likes, but she knows Winter is pulling from a very small pool of experience.

Winter made a small sound as Agnes held her around the waist. It was a cross between a sigh and a moan. She could feel her fingers pressing into her skin. Slightly painful and totally worth it. She gasped as she was pulled up into the bed with her knees between Agnes's legs. Their bodies pressed flush together. Winter was breathless.

Agnes was so strong. She could feel her muscles through her clothing. Feel their power as she pulled her closer. As Agnes's hands moved, so did Winter's. One remained around the other girl's neck over her shoulder. The other cupped her cheek with her palm. Why did Agnes taste so amazing? So earthy and homey. .... So addicting...

As Agnes broke the kiss to check up on her, Winter hummed as she nodded and pressed her forehead to hers. "I'm good... " She played with Agnes's hair just a bit. "I kinda know what I like." She then mocked biting her with a playful grin. "We already know that I like biting." Her confidence slowly building.

Girl was catching on fast. Agnes was a sucker for hands tangling in her hair, tugging in her hair, playing with her hair, anything really. A rumble echos in her chest as she hums her appreciation for the attention to her soft curls. Her hand from where is had been settled on the smaller girl’s waist lower to trail light against the curve of her hip, appreciating the softness there. This close, she can feel the hummingbird beat of Winter’s heart in her chest, feel the comfortable weight of her body pressing soft against her own. Such plush lips, just perfect to bite and tease.

Winter’s finding her confidence, bless the girl. Winter brings their forehead together when she breaks to check in on the less experienced girl, and huffs out a playful laugh after she speaks.

“Oh hun.” Agnes growls. She smiles just so, exposing her two sharpest teeth to the younger girl. “Y’ain’t e’en seen bitin’ yet.”

With that she brings their lips together once more. The kiss is a little rougher, a little less chaste. Her tongue swipes across the other’s lips to tease them open and when Winter grants her permission, her tongue brushes inside. There’s so much she wants to do; she want to tease out those sounds, those moans, those sighs. She lives for those noises, those vocal cues that she’s finding the tics that would unwind her partner and undo her slowly under Agnes’s attentions. Her hands roam as her head dips to find the space just under Winter’s jaw along the side of her neck and kisses soft in that junction.

Her hands find purchase on the top of the other girls thighs. Slowly, they find their way around the width of her legs to grip underneath the other girls thighs and ease her off the bed and into her lap. Winter’s legs part to bracket the larger girl’s hips and Agnes dips her head to trace teeth along the soft length of the younger girl’s neck.

Winter both heard and felt the rumble in Agnes's chest as she played with her hair. She smiled. So the girl does have a weakness. A small one... but a weakness nonetheless. She targeted her hair and combed her fingers through the soft curls. She gently tugged once she reached the ends before combing her fingers through again... over and over again. She found that she quite enjoyed the older girl's voice. It was quite... melodic.

Winter made a soft noise as Agnes gripped her hips, holding her there. She blushed once more but smiled all the same. She liked how the other was holding her, supporting her. Even her laugh was good natured as Winter attempted a tease. Agnes was much better at it. That growl she made... now that was sexy. And the two sharp teeth... Winter couldn't help but to grin. "I suppose I haven't." She whispered back. "Show me..."

THen their lips reunited in a not so tender kiss. Winter's grip on Agnes's hair tightened as she parted her lips to allow the other's tongue to explore her mouth. She sighed softly as they kissed while she closed her eyes, completely allowing herself to lose herself to the moment. Agnes wouldn't intentionally hurt her. She knew that much.

Agnes's lips found her weak point all too soon as she kissed right under her jaw. Winter moaned softly and pressed her body against Agnes's as Agnes's hands roamed. WInter didn't stop her. She didn't want her to stop. It was too amazing! Winter willingly shifted to straddle the older girl's lap as she pressed her body even closer now that she could. Agnes was all too good! Winter was slowly becoming jello in her hands and under her lips.

What was the final straw was when Winter felt Agnes drag her teeth along her neck. Winter tossed her head back and gripped the back of her head, holding her teeth to her neck. "Don't... stop..." She gasped out after her moan of delight. Damn... was she screwed. Agnes knew her too well already.

Agnes laughs against the curve of Winter’s neck, enjoying the fluttering pulse she can feel there. She figured the girl was a little sensitive, knew she liked teeth, but that. That was a reaction. Her heart skipped a small beat in her own chest, her smile curving a little more sly against Winter’s soft skin. This. This is what she liked most in her partners. The responsiveness, their noise, listening to their desires and playing into them until they’re putty under her hands. Their pleasure gives her a high like nothing else.

“Whate’er you wan, hun.” She purred.

Chapped lips press against the base of Winter’s neck before she nibbles soft, testing Winter. When the girl seems agreeable, she takes her teeth and sinks them soft into the flesh there. It’s not hard enough to break skin, Agnes knows her teeth could break bone if she put enough pressure behind them, but it’ll definitely leave a mark. Her teeth trail up, sucking and biting soft dark marks into the pale skin of her neck, ending back where she began.

Hands meanwhile knead soft into the back of her thighs, loving the weight of them, the shape of them. With Winter straddling her though, she’s sure she can find a better spot for them. She rolls her hips up and against the smaller girl; her hands come free from underneath Winter and grip low against the curve of her ass.

Winter felt Agnes's own heart skip a beat as she reacted to each new sensation. As Agnes so aptly picked up on, Winter was very sensitive when it came to her neck. It was one of her weaknesses. She was shy about admitting it but Agnes was quick to discover and exploit it. She moaned softly as she spoke. It was a short line but it meant so much.

Winter squirmed delightedly in her lap as her neck was nibbled. Her free hand rubbed Agnes's back as her other hand still remained tangled in her hair. Then she felt Sharon teeth bite her. She gasped and held onto her tighter. Her heart pounded even faster. It felt amazing. No... More than amazing... Fantastic! Winter gasped and groaned happily as the older and more experienced girl tended to her neck.

Winter knew that she was doomed. Agnes was amazing. She didn't want her to ever stop and they had only just started; Winter's pale cheeks flushed again as their hips grinded together a bit before Agnes grabbed her ass. She smiled.

She smiles, loving the red in the other’s cheeks. She looks flustered, flushed, and absolutely fucking edible. If she had to guess, the current flush in her cheeks had bloomed right after…

Agnes rolls her hips again, making sure the movement was slow but purposeful. Her hands drag up the smaller girl’s back; up and over the curve of her butt, along her hips, up her sides, and back to settle atop her impressive thighs. Strong fingers trace along the soft curve of her hipbones and back down her thighs, teasing.

She dips her head to take the girl’s lips between hers, claiming her mouth for her own as she sets an easy rhythm with her hips. The moans, the groans, the gasps; the girl on top of her was so vocal. Agnes smiles into the kiss. This girl, she thinks as Winter grinds down onto her. Something fizzles bright in her brain, burns warm in her gut, and she aborts that thought in favor of a growl as her fingers dig into the soft flesh of Winter’s hips.

Winter grinned as Agnes admitted to liking curvy girls like herself. It was always a confidence booster when someone said things like that. That certainly helped distracted her when she has gri-

She did it again. Winter flushed red as Agnes purposefully rolled her hips against hers. She bit her lip to soften the moan that welled up from her core but it was still far too loud to not be noticed by the other girl. Thankfully, the older girl's hands served as a welcome distraction from their hips touching and grinding against each other.

Agnes was teasing her and taking full advantage of her inexperience in order to give her a unique experience. To be honest, no boy back in high could top this. And she had plenty of practice. Winter welcomed the kiss eagerly as she returned it, parting her lips so her own tongue could explore her mouth. She moaned softly as she appreciated her taste. She was slowly realizing that she appreciated everything you do with Agnes. Even that sexy growl as she grabbed her hips and rolled her own.

Winter decided to shyly roll her hips back, pressing even closer to Agnes. Her face red and her pulse quickened as she slipped one of her hands up and under the other's shirt and felt her abs. Oh Lord... They even felt better than they looked from afar.

Agnes huffs out a laugh as Winter’s hand starts to work shyly under her shirt. Girl wants to touch, she’s got no problem with that. She’s in the mood to make it easier, so she takes the hem of her ratty tank top and pulls it up and over her head in a smooth motion.

"Help ya'self, sugar." she says in a playful drawl.

With no tank top, there’s nothing but an old sports bra covering Agnes’s torso. Her body is covered in hard won, defined muscle, in old scars and newer marks, and in freckles that fall from her face and neck down to her shoulders, chest, and back in a pattern reminiscent of stars on a dark summer night.

Rough hands return to Winter’s hips as Agnes’s head dips back in to kiss and suck at the underside of Winter’s jaw and down, peppering her poor neck in small, dark purple spots. Her lips lean up and back in to catch the smaller girl’s in an openmouthed kiss. She wants to taste, to touch, to go as far as the other will let her. She’ll take whatever’s given, she thinks as he hands work their way up and down the thick length of Winter’s thighs and hips.

Winter blushed as Agnes simply stripped off the tank top. Oh lord... she was sitting in the lap of a sexy, half naked girl. She was flustered but that didn't stop her hands from exploring her torso, her arms, her shoulders... Her finger tips brush up against scars old and new, memorizing the other's girls body with her fingers and eyes. She's never seen a more beautiful and attractive girl, despite all of her freckles and unique marks.

She blushed even more at her playful drawl. Winter couldn't keep her eyes off of her muscles and the constellations her freckles made. She traced a few with her thumbs before gasping and tilting her face up, tearing her eyes away once Agnes kissed her neck, attacking her soft flesh, covering her with fresh bruises and bite marks. Winter vaguely thinks that she was going to have to wear a scarf tomorrow.

The smaller girl moaned softly as Agnes treated her body and teased her to absolute bliss. She was breathing hard and before she could truly react, she felt Agnes kiss her and she gladly returned the kiss, tasting her once more. She moaned happily as Agnes's hands rubbed her thighs. Winter before increasingly warmer so she stripped off her sweatshirt, revealing a thin white cami underneath that did not hide her pokka dotted pink bra. Even contained in their cage, her breasts were almost spilling out.

Winter pulled away briefly to catch her breath. "Wow... you're fucking sexy..." She murmured in between breaths, still blushing hard. It was hard to be articulate when you're sitting in the lap of your crush.

Thick, cottony clouds swirled in a grey mass above the small campus. Things had been pretty quiet the past week- while tension shad been rising, it seemed as if everyone had been waiting on bated breath for Thanksgiving break. But, winter was rearing it’s bitter head, the sharp cold hitting everyone as they walked out of the heated buildings, bundled up in thick coats, clutching their arms across their middles. Noses ran red, breath was visible, and chills raked many bodies. The snow began to fall, slowly and softly, covering the grass and pavement with wet sludge. And everyone trudged through it.

Including Noelle.

She was tired, and it showed. Her eyes were accompanied with bags as she clutched her messenger bag to her chest, the worn and stained black leather gloves stretching to her grip. Her wrists are smattered with black goo, but she ignores it as she walks from the library to the door with a determined and purposeful pace. Thin, brown hair is tied in a loose bun at the base of her neck, whisps falling out of it and around her light grey knit hat. Her thin rain jacket was open, revealing her maroon cardigan from work. It is adorned with a large brown stain from some coffee she had spilled on her way in, ruining her uniform that she had planned on being able to use for the rest of the year as well as burning through her blouse and ruining that as well.

But she let that go.

Step after step hit the sidewalk as she makes her way across campus, ignoring the stares and whispers. ‘She was there, right?’ and ‘I hear she’s with that one guy’ pretty much was her background noise. It was funny, even before her lessons with Dr. McKay, she liked listening to the world that surrounded her. She had received so much information from each change in the environment, and while she still didn’t really hear those voices that called out to Tobi, she still found pleasure in just listening. Now, it was tainted by comments that had become part of the noise. She pulled out her phone, to scroll through her text messages with her mother, trying to ignore the stares and murmured words.

But she let that go too.

One particular group of boys passed her, slamming their shoulder into her chest. She stumbles, dropping her phone in the process, but not before looking up and flashing a scathing look. She recognized them from the only fraternity on campus; dumb jocks with a penchant for drinking and harassing others on campus. And of course, no one really cared. Everyone turned a blind eye. Noelle sighed as she kneeled down to pick up her phone, the screen now adorned with a fractal crack in the glass she had worked so hard to keep perfect. Eyes closed and a soft groan escapes. This just wasn’t her day, she decided. The world was out to get her for some reason.

But it was okay, she reminded herself with a soft smile. She had made plans for a date at the end of the week with Tobi. A real date. She wasn’t sure what was in store, but she had found her excitement building. It kept the negativity of the day at bay. When the coffee had spilled, she remembered his thick drawl wrapping around her space like a blanket. When the pile of returns she had been sorting fell off the cart, she had taken a deep breath and remembered his hand in her own, squeezing instantly, her thumb padding over his scars. When she had caught a freshman boy from her calculus class spying on her and snapping a picture, she counted to ten and pulled out the memory of Tobi's lips on her own in a sweet and tender case.

Keeping these things in mind had made her day bearable. Gave her control. Something to hold on to.

Sneakers hit the pavement at a steady pace as Tobi works his way down the length of the quad. He had been making laps around campus for a while now, at least an hour or two. One more and he was thinking that he would stop, find his favorite barista and his favorite tree and just settle in for a little bit before finding his way back to the dorms. Enjoy a bit of hot coffee and the pleasant ache in his legs for maybe a half an hour. Shower then, catch up on some homework underneath a warm quilt maybe. Put on some hometown bluegrass on his laptop and let the music carry him into the easy night.

He doesn’t notice the students giving him a wide berth on the sidewalk, nor does he notice the sideways glances the group of jocks coming towards him send his way. There’s headphones in his ears and a brisk chill in the air; both numb him to most of what’s going on around him. Winter’s always been real good at that. The cold always put him a little more on edge, too many old memories of wild nights with the two of them teetering on just the wrong side of hungry. Food always tended to pile up in his dorm room in the darker winter months despite his constant reminders to himself that he was safe, that he could eat whenever he wanted. Even still, he found himself watching anything that caught his eye, always appraising. How long it would last the two of them. How well it would keep.

His sister lived six hours away, for god’s sake, he thinks as he shakes his head. Feet still hit the pavement, beat after beat hitting in a complementary rhythm to the twang in his ears. He closes his eyes and the image of cold hard dirt underneath his feet fill his vision. There’s a deer gaining ground in front of him, he knows Agnes is next to him with a knife in her hand and a starved desperation written across her face. She ducks under a branch as he reaches behind him for the rifle slung across his back.

Loaded. Always loaded.

A beat, a pause, a breath before gunfire cracks through the trees. His feet carry him into a loping stop even as Agnes surges forward with her knife to finish the job. Hit the poor thing in the leg; hunger made him sloppy. A hand reaches out to a nearby tree to steady himself in both the past and present, his eyes open as he’s back on the quad in jogging pants. There’s no rifle slung across his back, no clawing hunger in his gut, no wild-eyed desperation in his mind. One long, low sigh escapes him as he stands to stretch. Guess that’s the end of this run.

Scarred hands pull one of the earbuds out of his ears right before he stuffs both his hands in the pocket of his sweats. His run’s over, but his heart won’t calm. The memory’s gone, but that lingering sense of dread won’t shake.

“Nothing coffee ain’t fix,” he mutters to himself half in the strange language he’d been gifted with. He begins to close the distance between himself and some sort of spicy tea thing his barista was into these days with an easy pace, hoping the slow walk would help ease his dread into something that doesn’t choke him half as bad.

‘Pretty day, at least.’ He thinks, looking up at the sky. It’s gonna snow soon, he can feel it.

Noelle slowly swiped her thumb against the newly cracked glass, a soft sigh escaping her lips. This was fine, it was fine. It wasn’t a reason to freak out or stress, it was fine. She slowly raised herse;f to her feet and dusted off the wet dirt on her black tights and skirt. She shivers in the bitter cold, a reminder of the wet winters at home. The huge snow storms matching with coastal ones, how the streets flooded or were covered with thick downy snow. Bundling at home with her sister, her mother making some warm soup. Not having to go to school. The storms were fierce, but it leads to nice, quiet days with her family.

She was walking toward her dorms again, taking deep breaths. A few wisps of hair fall into her eyes, which she pushes away with determination, curling it underneath her ear. Small flakes of snow started to fall, landing and melting on her powder blue jacket on impact. The snow falls gently and initial melts, but by the time Noelle reaches the door of her building, the snow has pilled up n the top of the grass in some places, dotting the lawn and bushes with snow.

Noelle crosses the threshold and into her building, shaking off any residue of moisture from her rain jacket. She makes her way to her dorm, when she opens the door, more cold air blasted her. Tamara was sitting on her bed in a large, bulky sweatshirt and fleece leggings, scrolling on her laptop. But the taller girl frowned, yet decided to stay silent about the cold. She had to go anyways, she had a meeting with Dr. McKay soon and she could not be late. But first, she needed to feed her little buddy. So, she knelt down to the large cage adorned with plush fish and fleece blankets (she finally registered it’s resident as an emotional support animal) only to find it already open. She blinks and stares it, another chill blasting in her face. Finally, she turns to Tamara, her eyes flicking around the small dorm, looking for the smaller black cat. She could hear her heart beat quicken, her fingertips, and toes buzzing in immediate anxiety. A cold hand clung to her heart, squeezing and squirming. He had to be here, but if he was, where was he? Noelle bit her lip and finally fixed her gaze on Tamara, saying so very softly “Um… Tamara. Did you let out…”

Tamara only shrugs, not looking up from her computer. Noelle knew that the other girl had to have let the cat out- Noelle stuck to her morning ritual very closely. And it ended with her herding her friend into the cage with ample room unless it was Wednesday, Friday, or the weekend, where he could be out because Tamara did not come back until noon. Where could he-

Another chill and Noelle’s tired, overworked brain finally fizzles. Her head shoots to the small window by her bed, the small snowflakes being blown onto her neatly made bed, cold air sucking into the room.

No.

Without a second thought, Noelle bolts out her door and back into the cold, dread weighing down her stomach. Back in Maine, Glenn had gotten lost in her neighborhood, but her mother always told her it was fine in the warmer months. That he could take care of himself and find his way back when he was hungry. But, with winter approaching and the fact that Glenn wasn’t familiar to the space? Noelle was completely and utterly wrecked with worry. Outside the building, her eyes flick around, remembering the bush that he had got caught in right outside her window, she kneels down, not noticing the numbness in her feet or hands. The black ink appears at her feet, bubbling, convulsing, and consuming the pavement that is surrounding her. Snow lands, and instead of melting, it is lost in the muck, becoming part of it almost instantaneously. Her gloved hands reach through the brambles, searching, but no luck. Her cat was nowhere to be seen. She stands, trying to take a step forward to the smatterings of trees...

But she can’t.

Her feet stay glued to their place, and just like in the jungle she created in the dining hall, the ink started to suck her feet down at a glacial pace. Her eyes go wide, her face pales. She doesn’t scream, but a whimper escapes her lips as she grabs her leg, trying to move it. It was too late, the dark nothingness had started to consume her, just as she had feared for weeks. And, just as before, it wasn't only black. It was a void- as the puddle grew, it glided over dead leaves and twigs with ease, disappearing into it. Becoming part of it.

But her arms aren’t listening. They stay rigid, as ink eats through her gloves, her hand replaced with two black tendrils that were reaching down to the puddle at her feet. She whimpers again, her chest rising and falling quickly, in time with her hyperventilating. Eyes look around for someone, anyone who could help. Her head dipped, her glasses falling to the pavement, cracking just like her phone. Strands from her hair clouded her face. Everything was fuzzy, but she couldn't see anyone that would help her nearby. Still, it didn't stop her mind from swirling.

The cat, the roommate, the snow. Tobi. She needed Tobi. Where was Tobi?

With a soft pop, a squeak escapes her lips as her arms are locked in place as the thick blackness is combined with the stuff at her feet. Her arms are rigid, straight lines, a completely foreign position to Noelle's natural slumps and angles. The unyielding position made it impossible to struggle, but Noelle still breathed heavily, racking her body with movement and quakes. She was sinking, having lost at least an inch of her height now, but she kept thinking of the tall, forest man. How he could help her, how he always could help her. He would know what to do. Her eyes scan the area, trying to find him. She had seen him running earlier while she was working, spying on him through the large windows of the library. He had to be nearby. Somewhere. Eyes scan, processing and removing anything that wasn't him.

Finally.

He's slowing down, heading towards the coffee shop. HEr eyes lock, and she tries to open her mouth to call out, to get his attention. But there is a pop in her shoulder, a squeak escaping her lips.

This was the only thing that didn't allow her to be completely consumed. But that wouldn't last long.

He had stood against the glossy wood counter of the coffee shop as his barista prepared the drink as silent as ever. He could smell the rich, roasted coffee that always permeated the air of the perpetually dim shop, could hear the sudden hiss of the coffee maker as the barista did something with it. Tobi had no idea what any of the processes to make his little latte were called or how to do them, but he supposed he didn’t need to know. Better to leave that sort of thing to the people who knew what they were doing. Instead, he stands there in front of the wooden counter and the smells, under the familiar dim light and the hiss of the coffee maker, and he waits for the barista to slide a black paper cup his way with a nod and a smile. Tobi dips his head back in acknowledgment before turning the way he came and walking out.

‘God,’ he thinks as he closes the wooden door. A small sound of chimes abruptly cuts off as the door locks back into the frame. It’s still cold outside, still undeniably winter. It’s an almost sterile chill in the air, cold enough to give breathing a sharp edge. Season’s shouldn’t hurt, he thinks bitterly as he takes a sip of the warm tea thing in his hands. The warmth chases away the sandpaper scratch in his throat, but does little for the chill slowly crusting over his heart, his lungs. Dread seeps soft through him.

He can’t figure why.

It’s a strange feeling for him. He knows the season always puts him on edge, but this feels nothing like that oh so familiar sharp edge. It’s still there, granted, but this feels like something else, something in the air just seems… off. It’s throwing him off his rhythm and throwing his stomach into knots. It feels like the first time he had heard the world around him whisper their strange words in a strange sort of ode to something they called ‘rot’, ‘crow’, and ‘decay’. Ominous. Unsettling.

His thoughts fade though as he finally feels what he had felt earlier manifest. Little snowflakes flicker down from the grey sky above. He used to hold such wonder for the little things, used to love running through the piles and piles of them that would accumulate around their home. His pa would push them into piles to chuck the two of them into; their ma would be waiting indoors with home-brewed tea. Snow used to hold laughter, fun, and the promise of a warm drink at the end of it. They’d used to watch it pile on the windows, used to race through drifts on the back of their Pa. When their parents left, they had left in the fall, left them plenty of food stores, but hadn’t told them how much winter would change for them.

How it would morph from something to look forward to into a quiet fight to survive. There was only so long you could last on cans of vegetables before craving something a little more alive.

Snowflakes accumulate on the rim of his cup and along the lines of his lashes as he walks. ‘Picking up,’ he thinks. There’s a breeze then, sharp and biting. It’s a frozen slap that reminds him of the season, the razor teeth of the cold that grazes his arms with the same sting of the knife in his backpack. He can do little to protect himself from it save quicken his pace faster towards the dorms. It was the only good thing about that little box he was supposed to call home: four walls kept out the winter chill a little better than branches did. He really wasn’t fond of either the season or the dorms but given the choice between the two of them, he’s a bit more inclined to a space to sleep that blocks out the snow.

It’s a little more bearable this time around too, ever since Noelle gave him that little plant. A smile pricks at his lips. The tiny trees still sung his overactive mind lullabies in flickering fireflies and soft faraway birdsong, whistling grass and the soft shifting of trees. They would tell him little stories, things they heard that day that they found interesting all related in their stuttering child speak. They made him smile both as a reminder of that night he and Noelle spent under stars and as just young plants chittering in that strange language. Those little plants, he thinks with a soft fond shake of his head. His little darlin’. Well, she ain’t really little, still got about an inch on him.

‘Semantics,” he thinks as he shrugs to himself.

Just like that though, the girl’s on his mind, as she tends to be. He can feel a bit of the dread in his chest ease at the thought of her, feel a bit of the chill on his skin warm as he thinks of their prospective date on Friday. There’s a hazy memory of him asking her out on her birthday, though he could never fully forget something like that. He remembers her smile at the question, remembers the happiness that bloomed in him even on the very unromantic setting of the back porch of their mutual friend’s apartment with him tipsy on cheap rum and about a case of beer. A laugh breaks the sharp air around him. “Really ain’t do anythin’ right,’ he thinks with a small smile.

There’s his dorm building now in front of him looming large but warm. The rest of the tea-whatever is tipped back as he draws closer and closer to the front steps. Soon he’d be under a hot shower then a warm blanket and surrounded by books and notebooks. It’d be a quiet night. He’s about to push open the large doors to his own building when he hears it.

A small noise, off towards Noelle’s dorm.

It really ain’t anything, just a small squeak. He’s tired and cold and about to disregard the whole thing when the world screams in his ears. It’s a screeching din that drowns out everything else but the dread in his heart. It beats now in time with the beat of his heart, tightening in a vicelike stranglehold around his ribs and his throat. He can feel the panic rising, feels his stomach respond in kind and for a second all he’s able to do is double over in panic and fear and listen to the cacophonous calls of the language familiar only to him.

WRONG.

WRONG.

WRONG.

It’s a maelstrom of noise, all coalescing in his head. He can feel his fingers loosen, barely hears the clatter of the empty cup against the concrete stairs. His head turns and through the fuzziness of pain and sound, he can see something in the same area the squeak would have come from. Strong shoulders square against the weight of the dizzying dread as feet drag him down steps almost without any input from himself, leading him towards the thing in the bushes.

He’s there again, in the mountains and the snow of his home. There again with a gun in his hand and steel in his eyes to match the metal in Agnes’s hands. He’s there with hunger icing over any sort of compassion in his head as he marches towards the deer bleeding out the shape melting dark in the snow. It’s helpless now, he knows. Red Black against white, it struggles in the snow from the sloppy cut Agnes had made. She’s breathless from the run; the bloody knife hangs loose in her fingers.

Seems hunger makes the both of them sloppy.

He takes his time. Feet drag through snow towards the deer towards the shape as it fights for any sort of purchase to get away. It’s stuck, injuries keeping it grounded as he approaches with cold steel in his hands. The rifle was a gift from his Pa so long ago, a promise to keep him safe even when the larger man couldn’t. A gift of protection as well as blood, a gift of life as well as death. His breath comes rougher now. The cold air chokes him, drags breath out of him against his wishes and will. There weren’t voices there though, or were there? He can't remember, he can't think with the voices in his head.

Screaming in his ear. Wrong, wrong, wrong, Wrong, WRONG.

‘Something’s wrong, something’s not right,’ he thinks even as he stumbles closer. His fingers curl around a trigger that feels so light in his hands as he comes close enough for a clean kill, put the poor thing out of its misery finally. The sight of it, the dread he feels, makes him sick. He lines up a shot down a barrel that he can’t quite see. It’s weak but the deer the shape turns its head towards him, dark brown eyes looking into his own and it’s too familiar, too wrong, not a deer. The dread drops deeper, nearly drowning him as the memory fades and his vision clears. Broken and stuttering, shaken and nearly sick, one word breaks the quiet winter evening.

Noelle let out a soft groan as the pain radiated from the shoulder that was strained downwards. Her entire left arm was now in a straight line, flesh melding into ink, coalescing into puddle thicker than blood at her feet. The muck had stopped moving outwards, had stopped consuming the earth and pavement and anything that laid upon it. As Noelle sank slowly into its mass, it seemed as if it only had a taste for her now. Her eyes dart to Tobi, pleading that he sees her as he makes his way out of the coffeehouse and back to the length of the Quad. Toward the small, square dorm buildings. Towards her.

Sickening pops and creaks fill her ears, a soft whimper escaping her lips yet again. Her right shoulder had followed its twin, straining itself forward and downward, making the arm meet with the puddle at her feet. Joints snap into rigidity, vertebrae is straightened unnaturally, bones are set into place. Every fiber of Noelle’s person was dragging her to the void, to the nothingness that brought nothing but numbness to whatever it touched. All of her own slumps and angles that came natural to her had been erased- the slouch of her posture earned from nights bent over a notebook, the crook of her elbows as she would cross her arms defensively, the way she would bring her knees to her chin so she could drape herself over her own body. Gone was the hunches and curves, replaced with her body stretched and squeezed into a profane X, one that exposed her entire self to anyone who passed.

Not only was it immensely uncomfortable, but she began to feel the unfamiliar pulse behind her eyes, a motion that she had only once before felt. In the Dining Hall. In the Jungle. When she had poured every ounce of her being into that place, into the world that she had created. It didn’t dissolve until she let go, until the timer that was her will ceased. And now, slowly it drew back. A soft tic now, but it was raising itself slowly. Yet, even with this tick, even with the painful stretch of her limbs, she stayed absolutely still. Eyes wide and fixed on the form of the boy making his way over.

A deer in headlights.

Of course, Noelle had heard the expression before. In fact, it was often used at her expense when she was younger, even before she had manifested. Anxiety ran through her like a wave on a nor’easter, crashing and unyielding into the storm was over. Couple that with a natural fear for authority, and freezing up in recitals or spelling bees or assemblies was something that occurred often. Eyes wide and blank. Face tight. Heart pounding. Blood rushing to her ears. Muffling and dulling sound, at odds with her brain desperately gathering information. Time both slowing down and reaching a breakneck pace. All accumulating to a single decision.

Fight or Flight.

Of course, for Noelle, it was neither. She would stay put in her spot each time until she was removed until she was brought back to her senses. Until she was breathing again.

Count to Ten. Breath on each number, Noe.

Karen Scott filled her mind; a kind smile, crinkled and warm eyes, the slight smell of cinnamon. She thought of her mother piling on blankets and stroking her hand. Reminding her of things that a therapist had said eons ago when they could afford one. When money wasn’t tight. Count to Ten. Breath on each. Hold the breath. Repeat. Yes. This was what she needed. She could breathe and count to ten, she could stop the timer. She could stop the sinking. She had done it before.

Noelle sucked in a deep breath, the frigid winter air filling her lungs with a chill that shriveled in her chest and reached her veins, freezing them with a tempered ice. It brought a painful lurch to her body, but it brought her forward and back to what was happening now. It brought her gaze back to Tobi, who stopped in his tracks. From her angle, she couldn’t see his face.

But she saw the coffee cup fall.

The cup that had, moments ago, been drained by the man who held it. That had brought swirling and steaming warmth into the bitter air. It fell, the lid pops open and rolling into the grass, making a soft trail in the dusted snow. And relief flooded Noelle, for she knew that Tobi had to have seen her, had to have been making his way over. Had to have a plan. Knowing this, feeling this, brought a warmth to her chest that stretched down to her stomach, to her thighs, to her arms. Places of her body that had previously been unfeeling from the much were alive again. And she just about wriggled free, maybe even have a chance to run to him.

But.

He turned to her, making his way over. His pace was quick but lacked an urgency and purpose that she had seen previously in crisis- Family Day, the Dining Hall, even Homecoming. Tobi’s expression and stance were odd too. It was dreamlike and confused, his face contorting somewhere between intense concentration, pain, and utter bafflement as if he were not here and now. But that wasn’t what alarmed her. His eyes… They read something completely different.

Hunger.

It was a feeling Noelle was familiar with, but not in this context. Not to this extent. Not with this origin. Noelle’s starvation and hunger were, for the most part, self-inflicted. A way for her to become numb, a way for her to belittle herself into something that didn’t even deserve food. Yet, even with the days of fasting that she had completed in shame and secrecy, she had never felt real, true, gnawing hunger. And that was what she saw in his eyes. Those dark, deep eyes and the alert rim of sharp grey. It was the stare of a beast who had been battling with the nagging descent into madness with only one thing on its mind. The stare of self-preservation forged in the dark and cold evenings of winter, of lean months and leaner bellies. The stare of a beast who had just seen its prey.

No.

Not just seen.

Stalked. Struck. Maimed.

A new, unfamiliar feeling dropped into Noelle’s gut, the arms and legs that were once ready to break free now cold and numb with their own self-preserving instincts. This was a feeling that she had only felt once before, something that shamed her and she tried to push aside. And she was able to. The memory flashed in perfect detail, as it always did. Hands on her wrists, her skirt flaring up. Then wind and lightning and rain and dirt and thunder and earth crashing together, into a wordless, formless mush. A body crumpled on the pavement. Blood. Teeth. And the eerie stillness of the world that followed.

Noelle felt fear clutch her heart. The fear of someone that she had let into her life, that she had chosen to be a part. The first since her father left. The first since she first found her abilities.

Her mind began to work in hyperdrive again, this time fighting to recoil or reach out. To hide or approach. To sink further or to fight back. The timer fought back against this still, beating her brain into a senseless motor fighting between emotion and instinct. Run. Stay. Run. Stay. Run. Stay.

And he spoke. Noelle blinked back him, her eyes unmoving, her shoulders and head shaking from the strain. For a moment, she was afraid that he had grown, that the stare of hunger had somehow turned him into something else, something larger. She was a full head shorter than him now, her brain adjusting to the new angle- looking upward instead of right on. She looked down at her legs and realized the truth. She was now ankle deep in thick goo, all feeling disappearing from her hips downward, numbness reaching the rest of her body fast. The tight knots of anxiety were being dissolved into the void, an unsettling and unnatural feeling. Noelle forced herself to meet his eyes again. He was fuzzy without her glasses, which laid in front of her, cracked and pieces of glass littering the ground. But she forced herself to remember the details she had spent so much time to memorize. The freckles on his cheeks, the deep lines of his skin, his jaw fuzzy with stubble, his own glasses framing eyes almost as dark as the sludge at her feet. Tobi. Her Tobi. He said her name. He saw her. He could help. He would help.

“Tobi? Tobi.. Tobi, I can’t.. I’m trying but I ca-“

The word was cut off with a yelp as she was dragged a full three inches into the muck. The glacial pace was gone- it was yanking her quickly and in short bursts. Gone was the slow pulse behind her eyes, replaced with a pounding, an instant reminder that time would soon be up. But she had to hold on. For as long as she could. She couldn’t just vanish. The numbness, the nothingness clutched her heart, and shoulders, leaving only her neck and face under her control. For a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow the ticking, the pulsating. To slow everything down.

You could just fall. Into nothingness. Become the nothingness.

It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t a whisper. It was something that was coiled in the back of her brain, something that had laid dormant, something that had always been there but never acknowledged. And now, it was the only thing crossing her mind. The only thing besides the pounding. She forced herself to open her eyes again, a flurry of snow smacking her face with coldness, but she couldn’t feel it anywhere else. The snow was absorbed, into her arms, into the puddle. Into her. She chewed her lip and spoke again.

“Tobi. I’ can’t feel anything. I can’t… I don’t know what…. I need…”

The pounding. The snow. The cat. The Hunger. The numbness.

It was all too much.

Noelle knew that her time was up, as she choked on a quiet sob, ink stretching and reaching to her shoulder through the tendrils that were once her arms. She met Tobi’s gaze again, eyes still wide, mouth agape. The very last thing she felt was the biting prick of tears in her eyes, welling up. One falls, tracing her bare face, but know doesn’t know that. She has no way to know that.

“I’m so sorry… Oh God, I’m so sorry, Tobi. I’m so sor-“...…

In one swift motion, the girl was dragged down in her entirety into the bubbling black ink, disappearing impossibly into the muck. It was only a moment. A blink. And she was gone. Without a trace. Snow dusted the concrete, the bush that was behind her, the steps, the earth. It was pure and soft but was eaten by the ink as it hit the puddle.

And yet.

With another blink, someone, something else appeared.

If one had to define the shape, it was humanoid. But the darkness was a void, absorbing the light surrounding it and making the shape of body ill-defined and ever-moving. Arms and legs were formed and dissolved from the thing’s body, dripping down back into its mass. Instead of feet, tendrils like roots of a tree spread themselves from the trunk of the thing’s legs, slowly moving, reaching out and consuming the ground beneath. Up the trunk and to its chest, the murky darkness would combine and separate, revealing it’s internal mechanisms, which was a combination of the cosmos, static and smoke, swirling and combining into nothingness and everything and whatever laid between, in constant motion. It was fuzzy, but the inky outer layer would cover its insides, making everything even more out of focus. The black matter swirled up, tapering into a neck and into an oval-shaped head. While Noelle’s hair was thin and bone-straight, this being’s hair fanned behind it, made of the same static that kept appearing and disappearing across its body. It’s constantly swirling, the negative image of the stars and planets twisting onto itself, yet expanding outward.

But there was no mistaking the eyes

They were wide, oval-shaped of hollow white. There was no Noelle, no person behind those eyes. Only a blank slate of pure nothingness. The eyes were fixed on Tobi, the head of the creature tilting ever so slightly. The ink swirled at the nape of its neck, congealing and combining then coming apart all over again. It watched him, waited for him in an eerie stillness.

There’s a quiet in the wood paneled office of Lazarus Mckay. He sits with his glasses low on his face to hide dark, tired half-moons under his eyes. A pile of essays is spread on the desk in front of him; he’s been working on getting through them in time for his next class. His Ta is out sick, forcing him to pick up whatever slack is left behind and in between that and managing all the press that the university’s mutant immersion program has been getting, he’s been swamped. The flood of work almost seems tidal, but there’s a professionalism he must maintain and an aura of control that he refuses to give up.

Besides, it’s almost time for the one class he always looks forward too.

Noelle Scott. A bright young woman who’s been showing promising results. Agaisnt his better judgement or maybe out of some sort of curiosity, he had taken the freshman on as a student. She was the nervous sort, yes. Eager to please, eager to be right, but also eager to learn. They shared a similar passion for literature and language and he found that he was beginning to enjoy their weekly walks. That it was nice to just talk to someone about literature or the day’s events; someone who, when they weren’t looking so hard for a right answer, had some interesting opinions. Whose wit was almost quick enough to keep pace with a man eons her senior.

Bright blue eyes flick to the window. Snow has begun to fall; the sight of it pulls a rare genuine smile from the serious man. Winter has always been his favorite season. It’s a physical manifestation of change, a purge of the old to make way for the new. Slim hands find their way into his pockets as he watches the early sunset and the fading light that follows. The early evenings were both a blessing and a curse of winter. On the one hand, they give him an excuse to curl up earlier on the couch with a book and a large mug of coffee. On the other, he thinks as his lips pull back in a yawn, they remind him of all the sleep he isn’t getting. He leans back in his chair and brings his hand up to check the time.

She’s late.

Sharp eyes stare the time for a lengthy beat before long legs push up from his chair. He stands to circle his desk, polished leather shoes dragging against the rich carpet. A few more minutes. He’d give her a few more minutes. She’s earned that at least.

.

.

.

The minutes pass without a knock at his door. He’s hardly disappointed, his experience doesn’t allow much in the way of surprise anymore. But, he thought her at least a little different from the average student who passed through his office doors, seeking some sort of secret. He had gambled on his curiosity and lost, but at least it was interesting while it lasted. Lazarus turns his back to the windows and starts towards his desk to gather the essays and put them into his bag to grade at home. If he has no reason to stay, he’d rather not linger any longer tonight. The snow’s so much prettier when viewed through his own windows.

His feet stop though halfway between the window and his desk. An insistent nagging at the back of his head pulls him back around towards the window and he turns. There’s nothing there but the soft falling flecks of snow that slowly dust the window panels and cover the evergreen bushes outside in a soft white blanket. Hardly unusual, he thinks, but there’s still that pull, that aching sense of something more. Piercing blue eyes scan the campus beyond the window.

Still nothing.

Snow. That’s all he can see. Just the quiet accumulation of fractal precipitation. There are a few students outside covered head to toe in coats and scarves and all sorts of other winter gear. There’s one passing by now in something that reminds him of those old science fiction movies Sam loves. Puffy silver coat, dark wash jeans, a Nasa logo still visible as the poor boy tries to pull the zipper up and over the thick hoodie it adorns. A few others were seemingly caught unaware and hunch over to brace themselves against the biting wind. Lazarus watches for a few more minutes and, finding nothing to give an explanation to the unease he feels, turns once more from the window to make his way again to the desk and gather his things.

WRONG.

The sudden screech in his head hits him out of nowhere and he crumples in on himself. Teeth grind against the din as his eyes blink away tears born of pain. He can’t think, can’t breathe for a long moment, just chokes on air as one hand reaches out blindly to grab at his desk for balance. Knuckles bloom white as he clutches at the wooden edge to match the light behind his eyes; it’s like his head has been slammed into the same desk that he clings to now as a life line.

An eternity, or what feels like one, passes before he can breathe again. He’s on the floor now, legs folded underneath him from where he crumpled to the floor. The hand that had been clutching the desk unfold from its iron grip to shakily wipe the wetness trickling from his nose and down the curve of his lips. ‘Iron,’ he thinks as it comes close enough to taste.

Blood, he confirms as his hand comes away smeared in red. It’s all he can do to sit and breathe. Eyes flick towards the window and watch the snow fall in a little bit of a daze.

“What the hell,” he mutters soft between gasping breaths. “What.” The hand reaches out again for the desk to pull himself upward. “The.” His feet carry him almost on impulse out the office door and down the hallway of the building. “Hell.” Shaky hands push the front doors. Cold filters in fast carried by the winter wind; it runs through hair as white as the snow it carries on its way inside. Lazarus stands at the threshold, skin above his lips and his hand stained with blood, watching the world with frigid blue eyes and looking for anything that could have caused that.

The voices continue to shriek into his ears. The pain of it is splitting like the worst of his migraines, like a sudden sharp knock to the head. It’s deafening, a lot like the thunderstorms he and his sister would sit through and listen to as it pounded against their house. Rain beating in sheets against the wooden walls and hitting glass in a low roar. There was always that fear despite everything they knew, that that storm would be the one to punch a hole through their walls, would be the one to take out their sacred shelter from the elements.

There’s that same fear now and here, fear that shakes him deep. Noelle looks at him with those same wide brown eyes that he had fallen in love with, contorted here in fear and pain. He can hear her joints creak and pop as she struggles against the strange muck that pulls her down. The sound is sickening, reminiscent of times he and Agnes had to pop each other’s dislocated shoulders back into place.

Her voice breaks him from the fall back into memories. She’s begging him with desperation in her voice and in her eyes but he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t think of anything that can help here, can’t think of any easy solution. The more she begs the more he panics, the more he feels ice clench around his throat and heart.

“I got you.” He says, but his voice shakes. He doesn’t even realize she can’t understand, doesn’t even notice he’s speaking to her in the same language that fill his ears with static screams. “Don’ worry,” he says as his own stomach drops. She’s sinking, oh lawd, she’s sinking. The snow’s picking up but he doesn’t notice the growing numbness of his own fingers and bare arms. ‘Don’ worry, don’ worry,” he mutters almost in a chant as he works through solutions in his head, none of them good enough, he’s not good enough, he could have fixed this, he should be able to fix this.

Dark eyes go wide as sinks further into the muck. He darts forward, makes a grab for something, anything, that he can hold onto. His hands make a grab for her arms, but all they get a hold of is that same sticky muck that’s pulling her down with it. He startles as his hands sink into the black and stain his fingertips that same dark. There’s her arm underneath, he can feel it, but then it’s not? She’s dissolving with the ink into that puddle and the thought of that nearly makes him sick.

With one quick yank, his hand is free. Stained fingertips fidget as he murmurs placating things in his strange language, tears of pain and panic pricking at the corners of his eyes. “ I don’,” his hands come up to run through his hair; the motion leaves streaks of black behind in his curls. “I don’, I don’, I don’,” he stammers over and over as calloused fingers tug at his hair. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help Noelle, doesn’t even know what this is that’s happening.

And he can’t fix what he doesn’t know.

Doesn’t mean he ain’t gonna try.

He leans down to try and tug some of the ink off her. His calloused hands that have seen so much work, that have pulled so many plants from the ground, that have carried everything from flowers to tree trunks work harder than they ever have in their life to make even the slightest dent in the black engulfing Noelle. He doesn’t know what happens next should he fail here. If Noelle would just disappear entirely. If he would never see her again. Hell, she might fall and come up the very next moment but at this second, he doesn’t want to find out. He doesn’t want to bet on this being something less than his worst fears. More than anything, he doesn’t want to see what happens next.

She’s apologizing now, and the sound of her voice whips Tobi from his frenzy. Arms coated in the stuff, he meets her wide eyes with his own, both of them afraid. His own dark eyes trace the path of her tear down her cheek, a cheek he’s cradled with his own hand so many times and he can hear the finality in her voice. In those apologies.

“it’ll be okay, I ain’t gonna let you go, I lov-,”

......

He goes cold.

She’s not there anymore.

His eyes track the soft patter of white snow on dark ink, watches as it sinks into soft oblivion. The air is still in the aftermath of his desperate attempts to help her out of the mire she was sinking in, still in a way that echoes the numbness he feels spreading down his spine. The noise in his mind is still there but fades to a soft faraway static in the sudden shock. The strings that swim in his vision are still there, still connecting every bit of earth and every slumbering tree branch.

He ignores the way they sever at the black mass.

“Noelle?” he calls, voice soft. The chill winter wind swallows what might have been words as it winds past. Vaguely, he’s aware that this would have been a good time for the bright yellow blanket he’s got stuffed on his bed in his room. Vaguely, he’s aware of a lot of things: the quiet steps of curious passersby, the soft crunch of snow under his feet, shaking in the bushes as birds perch in refuge from the snow. The puddle below him makes another quiet, gurgling sound, and Tobi steps back. She’s coming back, he thinks with a surety born of shock and denial. She’s coming back.

His heart slowly sinks as he watches what comes out of the well of ink. A dark, dark humanoid shape, so close to Noelle and yet… the eyes. There’s nothing there. They demolish any sort of hope he might have held that this was Noelle and all at once, he can feel that sinking dread creep its way up his spine. He’s sick with it, choking on it, drowning in it. It makes no sense, he thinks. No sense. He turns to the figure, grey irises focusing on the form.

“Where did she go?” He asks in that strange language. Hands loose at his sides, he sounds quietly confused.

The being kept it’s head at a tilt, eyes unblinking but focused on the man who had spoken in warbled tones of earth and air. He was asking for something. Asking for something that it was not going to give. Something that it was quite adamant to keep away. Someone.

The creature straightened it’s head in a motion far from human. Instead of the inelasticity of bone and muscle, the oval connected to the rest of the alien mass seems to just roll back into place, elegant and supernatural. It looked at Tobi, head on, focus unwavering. It had no mouth, only opening and closing crevices that now reached from its torso to its chest to its neck. As the soft, fluffy flakes of snowfall and swerve to meet the ink, those staticky spaces underneath the ink open to catch. Like a child attempting to catch a snowflake on their tongue. But, as those spaces open, they disappear, the close. It is in constant motion-roots and tendrils reaching out and drawing back, hair fanning out in the wind and in the still air. The ground that reappeared from under the ink was untouched. No stain of black, no snow, no evidence of fallen leaves or acorns.

A murky arm forms and reaches out to Tobi, the eyes fixed still. The arm is long but firm, but it doesn’t complete with a wrist and hand and fingers. Just a stump that tapers off into a jagged edge. Without expression, it holds it there for a moment. It is unclear if it is pointing to Tobi or beckoning him closer. To, perhaps, draw him closer. Maybe to show him where the girl had gone. Ink swirled and dissipated off of the arm, trailing and disappearing into the crisp and harsh winter air, creating patterns that had been traced onto his skin by the girl, during many soft nights whether underneath stars or the tiled ceiling of his small dorms. Gentle, soft designs of smoky darkness as the formless ghost of the girl stood still. And it could have stayed there in that position for a long time. Perhaps forever.

But there is a noise behind Tobi, the head shifting focus, the hollow eyes now fixed on a point behind him. Students were stopping, staring, pointing, sneering. Among them were a group of boys from earlier, the boys that had knocked the girl down without a second thought. Like she was nothing. Like she was worthless. They watched in something between horror and cruel delight. Did they know that she was gone? That she had disappeared? Nearby is another group of girls, clumping together in disgust. Yet another group of mutant students form, close together, wanting to help but unsure what to do.

The girl would not want this.

This would not do.

A scream fills the air, made of static and a sharp hiss of something otherworldly, causing many students to grab their ears and squeeze their eyes shut, blocking out the sensation caused by the unknowable creature in their midst. The sound was purely physical, a way to distract from a hasty escape. Hair made of galaxies blows in the non-existent wind, the body forming into a solid build of ink that now refused to crack, to reveal itself. To lose control, as the girl had. It was time to move on, to go. If only for a little while. The puddle at its trunk bubbled and gurgled, drawing the tendrils back into themselves, leaving bare grass and pavement that is soon covered in a downy layer of white fluff. The black void stands itself against the onlookers, about to fall back into the sweet earth,

But.

There was a call deep within itself. A plea. Something completely soundless, but something that needed to be done.

It gazes back at Tobi, tilting its head again. Appraising him. The arm that points at him lowers, aimed at his feet, eyes still fixed. This motion was clear.

Look there.

Another hiss and the form drops into itself, into the earth, the puddle following after, leaving only a soft stain of black muck that was soon washed out with snow. Around Tobi, students begin to make their way back to the path, in a daze. As if they hadn’t seen what had just transpired, as if something had wiped the memory blank from their minds, or at least filed it away to something unimportant. Save one witness. Tobi was the only one spared of this dazed normalcy. This was purposeful, a subconscious request from the prisoner within the pitch. One that would be fulfilled, one that would hopefully spare the man from the pain of a double migraine coupled with nerves that would flare and glow.

Where the figure had pointed, right by the base of Tobi’s right leg, nuzzles a small black cat. It is a familiar sight to Tobi-a small beast that had been smuggled onto campus to calm an anxious woman. Little paw prints tracked the path from the nearby tree it had been sitting towards the man's feet, tracks with six toes and a wide gait. The cat gives a soft, gentle sound while weaving his way through Tobi’s legs, snow landing and sticking to its form. Between his feet, it rolls onto his back, curling paws up to his chest, staring at the large man with lamplit eyes.

A shake of the head, an adjustment of the ears, a twitch of the tail, and the cat stands again, walking to the ink patch. He nudges the stained grass with a nose, then batts it with quick paws. Another soft meow as it turns back to Tobi.